


young disenfranchised straight white boys

by golden_geese



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, MacDennis - Freeform, Other, allusions to inhalant use, high school era, kind of, takes place during freshman or sophomore year, this fic is very slice-of-life, use of weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_geese/pseuds/golden_geese
Summary: I want to build you a protest out of sticks and rocksI find in the backyard behind the house you grew up inIn loving memory of all our nonconformityI want to sing you a signal that reaches only the earsOf young disenfranchised straight white boysBecause that would feel normal, and none of this doesmac and dennis meet for the first time. dennis is a dick. mac hates dennis. mac finds dennis' laugh infectious.





	young disenfranchised straight white boys

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: people being mean to charlie  
> disclaimer: idk anything about what it's like to buy weed in high school so i just guessed ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He’s still maybe twenty-six percent dazed from the glue. The tattered cuffs of his jeans are soggy from mud; soggy from walking in the rain, caked in dirt a few inches up since he wore the same pants yesterday. 

(It’s not like he had a choice. When he got home last night, the door was locked. His key was a shitty copy and it didn’t work half the time. He had to go sleep at Charlie’s house. Not that Charlie seemed to mind. Hence, the glue.)

“You got weed, Mac?” Charlie asks, easily breaking the silence.

“Of course,” he responds. “Why?”

“Nikki Potnick said something to me about it yesterday. Like, she wants some.”

“Oh. She say how much?”

“Dunno. Just a little bit, probably.”

Mac nods. He can over-charge Nikki Potnick. She has a nice car. She has to have money. Maybe he can even charge her double if he rolls her joints for her. He’s really good at it, anyway. Maybe the best in the whole school. He’s never seen a joint tighter than the ones he rolls. 

(He’d win in a joint rolling contest against anyone. Maybe he should challenge someone to a joint rolling contest.)

“Anyway-- think she said something about finding you at lunch,” Charlie continues, idly tugging on one of his backpack straps. “Tim Murphy was there too. He wants some.”

Tim Murphy is a dick. Tim Murphy calls him Ronnie the Rat. Tim Murphy maybe started up the nickname Ronnie the Rat, now that Mac thinks about it. 

“Jesus, bro. How many people are you collecting orders from?”

“I didn’t start it. Nikki brought it up. She said she used to get it from some other guy, but he got caught and he’s in juvie.”

Mac had taken his turn in juvie. For a second he almost feels bad for whoever Nikki’s old dealer is. Then he remembers it was probably Mac’s fault the kid was locked up in the first place.

“Well-- maybe you should keep going, man. I kind of have a lot kicking around in my backpack. Probably best to unload some more of it,” Mac says, pushing his hair back. 

“If I hear anyone talking about it I’ll let them know.”

They turn the corner. The school is only a handful of yards away now-- the weed talk ceases. 

English. He carves at the underside of his desk with his pocket knife. Science. He drinks the lukewarm Red Bull he’d brought to drink at lunch. Smashes the can against the wall and tosses it at the trash can. Misses, just as the bell rings. Woodshop.

He’s minding his own business, sanding down the shitty bird house he’s half-assed. The teacher is reading a magazine at his desk, not at all paying attention-- lots of his classmates are slacking off, but Mac kind of likes woodshop. Even though he’s bad at it and he doesn’t try that hard. He can tell someone is standing behind him, though. He ignores it. Probably just some asshole who wants to make fun of him for hanging out with Charlie or something. He focuses on his shitty bird house.

“Are you Ronald McDonald?”

He stops. Turns, brushing his hands together to get the wood dust off them. A thin kid with wide shoulders, maybe an inch or two taller, topped off with wily brown curls. His lip is twitching. No one can say his full name with a straight face.

“Mac,” he says. “Who’s asking?”

“Dennis Reynolds,” the guy says, leaning casually against the wall. “Word is you’re selling.”

“Yeah,” Mac says.

“Your shit good?”

He shifts his shoulders. “Yeah, man.”

“Got an eighth?” Dennis asks, touching his hair idly. Mac watches him. He has long fingers. His other hand is around the handle of a hammer.

Mac glances toward the teacher. “Uh-- what if I do?”

“Then you should meet me under the bleachers after school,” Dennis suggests. “So I can buy it from you.”

“Sure,” Mac says. “Thirty bucks.”

“Mmm-- I’ll give you twenty-five.” Dennis turns and walks away before Mac can argue.

***

He sells to Nikki Potnick and Tim Murphy at the start of lunch. Tim says “Thanks, Ron”. Even though Mac doesn’t like going by Ron either, it’s better than Ronnie and/or Rat. Nikki overpays.

He sits in the cafeteria with Charlie and they eat their chicken nuggets and carrot sticks and potato chips together. He’s feeling sleepy. Maybe from the glue. He wishes he’d saved the Red Bull so he had something to get him through his last three classes.

“You know Dennis Reynolds?” He asks, scraping up the last little bit of ketchup on his plate with a half-eaten nugget.

“No.”

“He came up to me in shop. He wants to buy a shit ton of weed after school.”

“You got enough, bro?”

“Yeah, man, I got a lot. Nikki just wanted a joint, anyway.”

“Cool, cool.”

“Speaking of,” Mac says, his mouth full, “you wanna smoke some tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we do it in your basement?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” Mac says. “I just gotta go home first. I gotta shower and stuff. And my mom’s probably worried since I didn’t come home last night.”

(She isn’t.)

“Okay.”

He glances to the side for no real reason. Catches sight of Dennis Reynolds and his curly hair. He’s sitting with three girls; Maureen Ponderosa, Mac recognizes, and some blonde girl with a back brace across from them. Next to the blonde girl, a fat girl Mac almost recognizes. Dennis’ arm is around Maureen. He wonders if they’re dating. 

“Hey, you think Maureen Ponderosa is cute?” He asks Charlie.

Charlie shrugs. “Sure. Why?”

“That guy I just told you about? He’s sitting with her over there.”

“Oh, yeah?” Charlie follows Mac’s gaze. “She’s okay, I guess. But if she’s sitting there with that guy and his arm is around her, they’re probably dating.”

“Oh, yeah. Probably.”

Mac finishes his food. It’s loud in the cafeteria, but for a second, he thinks he can hear Dennis Reynolds laugh.

***

He sits through Math. Spanish. History. He steals a pencil from Matty Mara out of boredom. Nudges it with his foot; watches it roll across the floor.

The final bell rings. He shoves his notebook back into his backpack and shoves his way out the door. Heads toward the bleachers.

Dennis is already there waiting for him, somehow. The girl with the back brace is there too. 

“You got my shit?” Dennis asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, let me get it,” Mac says. 

“It better be good,” the girl says.

“He said it was, Dee,” Dennis says. “He wouldn’t lie to us, right?” There’s something mischievous around his eyes.

“Huh? Oh, no, ‘course it’s good. It’s great. I smoke it all the time.” He fishes the bag out. There are little tiny plastic bags inside the big one, each with weed measured out. He takes an eighth bag out.

“Perfect,” Dennis says. He smooths out a twenty dollar bill and a five dollar bill. Hands them to Mac. Mac almost forgets that this is five dollars less than he charges; for some reason he gives the guy the eighth anyway.

“Our parents are out of Philly this weekend,” the girl says. Mac remembers they’re twins-- realizes he’s heard of this girl. People call her Aluminum Monster. Their school has so many mean nicknames, he thinks sometimes, it’s impossible to keep track of who’s called what. “We’re having a party Friday night. You can come if you bring a bunch of weed.”

“Okay,” Mac says a beat too late. “Sure. I’ll be there. Where?”

Dennis takes his backpack off and unzips it. Drops the weed in; digs around for a pen. He takes Mac’s hand and scrawls on his inner wrist. “Our last guy got locked up,” he explains. “You gonna be able to keep hooking us up?”

“For sure,” Mac says, nodding. “I’ll bring an ounce or two on Friday. Is that enough?” He hopes it’s enough. He’s not sure if he would be able to get his hands on any more than that in three days.

“Should be,” Dennis says. “See you then, man.”

The twins turn and leave. He can hear the creak of the girl’s back brace as they head off. He pockets the twenty-five dollars.

***

“You sure they’ll be okay with me coming?” Charlie asks, pulling on his jacket sleeve.

“Of course,” Mac says, even though he didn’t ask and doesn’t know. “Just be cool, man.”

“I got some dead spiders in my pocket,” Charlie says. “In case they start making fun of me.”

“Gross, dude, you gotta stop eating that shit.”

The door is open when Mac and Charlie make their way to it. It’s loud inside, with outdated music blasting. Mac smells beer before they even go in.

“Are you s’posta find Dennis?” Charlie asks.

“I dunno, man,” Mac shouts over the music. They wade further into the party. Everyone Mac has ever seen at school is there, he thinks. Everyone is laughing or drinking or making out or talking in a group. He’s glad he brought Charlie, he realizes-- if he hadn’t, he’d be all alone with nobody to hang out with. But he can keep pretending he brought Charlie as a favor to him since Charlie never gets invited to any parties ever.

“Dirtgrub!” someone shouts. Mac glances over just in time to see the guy grab onto Charlie. “You gonna eat something gross for us, Dirtgrub?”

“If you want,” Charlie says, hand moving toward his pocket. Mac grabs his wrist before he can take the bag of dead spiders out.

(It might not even be a bag, Mac realizes. It might just be loose dead spiders.)

“You know where Dennis is?” Mac asks the guy, shoving Charlie away so he won’t eat the dead bugs.

The guy looks disappointed. Mac almost knows his name. “No. I think the Aluminum Monster is over there by the fireplace.”

Mac looks-- she is. She’s tossing back a red plastic cup of beer with Maureen Ponderosa’s brother whose name Mac doesn’t remember. 

(Gross, he thinks. One set of twins banging another set of twins.)

(Are the Ponderosas twins? He almost remembers.)

“Dee,” he shouts over the music once he’s gotten through the tangle of people. 

“What?” She asks, making kind of a mean face. Mac’s used to girls looking at him like that, though.

“I got the weed. Where’s your brother?”

“Kitchen,” she says, turning back to the Ponderosa boy.

He nods. Checks over his shoulder to make sure Charlie is still behind him before heading to the kitchen.

Dennis is standing with three other guys. They’re all laughing and drinking beer. Mac manages to catch his eye.

“Hey,” Dennis says, an eager flash in his eyes. Blue eyes, Mac notices as they come closer to each other. “Did you bring weed?”

Mac nods. “I have an ounce and a half.”

“Perfect, perfect. Hey, everyone, come buy weed,” he shouts. No one reacts, other than the five other people in the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, Dennis goes toward the control panel of a state-of-the-art speaker system. Shuts the music off. 

This gets everyone’s attention. He looks a little smug as he shouts again; “We got weed, come buy some.”

A low chatter buzzes through the crowd of teenagers as they form a sloppy line. 

“Aw, Dennis, what the fuck’d you invite Ronnie the Rat for?” Someone groans. Mac chooses to ignore it.

“He’s the only guy I could find,” Dennis says. “Everyone else I knew who sold is in juvie, or left for college, man.”

“Yeah, but why the hell do you think they’re in juvie? ‘Cause of this asshole.”

“Whatever, man, he brought weed, didn’t he?”

So he’s like… maybe the fourth choice. Okay. He can accept that. 

He passes out little baggies of weed. He pockets the money. Lots of money. 

When the line finishes, he’s sold most of what he brought. Sold more than he usually would in a whole week. 

He grabs Charlie and they wander over to the keg for some beers. A few sips in, Mac feels a hand clap on his shoulder.

“You wanna light one up with me?”

He turns. It’s Dennis, with a shit-eating grin at his lips. 

(He’s gotta be kind of drunk.)

“Sure,” Mac says. “Mind if my friend comes?”

“Aren’t you the guy who eats grass and stuff?” Dennis asks, smirking a little bit.

“Yeah,” Charlie says.

“Ha. Sure. Bring him. Let’s go upstairs. You got rolling papers or a pipe or something?”

“‘Course. I have papers.”

“Dope. Let’s bounce.”

He glances toward Charlie. Charlie shrugs a little, nodding, and they follow Dennis up the stairs. Their house is huge, Mac realizes, looking around-- he can’t even tell how many doors this hallway has. It’s L shaped. And downstairs, they had a pool table, those fancy speakers, a huge island in the kitchen… it’s a stark contrast from the two-bedroom apartment Mac and his mom live in.

“Dennis,” a girl voice slurs from the bottom of the stairs. Mac looks; Dennis doesn’t. It’s Maureen.

“Yo, dude,” Mac says, nudging Dennis’ arm.

Dennis shakes his head. “I’ll see you later, baby,” he calls, without even turning his head.

Mac glances back and forth from Maureen to Dennis. She’s pouting a little, her lip poking out-- she’s clinging to the bannister for support. Clearly, she’s drunk. Whatever. Not Mac’s problem.

“Roll us one,” Dennis says as he opens his bedroom door. Mac nods, taking the little packet of papers out of his pocket. He rolls a perfect joint on Dennis’ desk. Charlie sit down on the floor-- Mac sees out of the corner of his eyes. Charlie always seems to prefer floors when he’s out of his element. Mac noticed it a long time ago.

As he’s sitting down by Charlie with the finished joint, more shitty 80s music starts playing from Dennis’ stereo, quieter now. From Dennis’ bedroom, they can hardly hear what’s going on downstairs. Can’t smell beer or teenage desperation anymore. 

(Mac falls asleep to his neighbors arguing or kids crying or people yelling outside or his mom’s TV every night.)

“So what’s your story, Dirtgrub?” Dennis asks, sitting down on the floor too.

“His name’s Charlie,” Mac says. He lights the joint and takes a puff off it. 

“Everybody calls him Dirtgrub.”

Mac passes the joint to Charlie. If Dennis is going to be a dick, he thinks, he can puff last.

“My story?” Charlie asks once he’s exhaled. He passes the joint to Dennis.

“Yeah, dude. Like, what’s your thing? What’s your deal?”

“My deal… uh, I live with my mom and my uncle. I like grilled cheese sandwiches, but you know… I always feel like they could just be more good. Like they’re missing something.”

“You already blazed?” Dennis laughs smoke out.

“No, he’s just like that,” Mac says. He feels defensive, for some reason. He dunks on Charlie constantly. But he doesn’t like it when other people do. It’s only okay for Mac because they’re friends. Because they huff glue and smoke weed and throw rocks at shit and ride bikes and watch TV together.

(Or, they used to ride bikes before that damn bike thief ruined everything.)

“I’m just like that,” Charlie repeats, shrugging.

Mac inhales another mouthful of smoke. He’s starting to feel the tickle in his mind. A few more puffs and he’ll be smiling that dopey sleepy smile. He’s eager for it. He takes another puff before passing it on.

“I like grilled cheeses,” Dennis says. “What about you, Mac?”

“Sure, I like them,” Mac says.

“No-- what’s your deal?”

“Uh-- I dunno, man.”

Dennis takes a deep drag off the joint. Takes his time holding in the smoke before he exhales. “What are you into?”

Mac shrugs. “Weed. Karate movies. ...Tits.”

“All good things,” Dennis says, nodding slowly. “Where’s your dad, Charlie?”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t have one,” Charlie says.

“Everybody has a dad. It’s not biologically possible to not have a dad.”

“Well-- I don’t know mine. I just live with my mom.”

“And your uncle,” Dennis says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“What about your parents, Mac?”

“Uh-- I live with my mom,” he says. 

“You don’t know your dad either?”

“I do. He’s just in jail.”

Dennis’ eyes glint a little. “For what, man?”

“He was selling heroin.”

“The piece of shit apple doesn’t fall far from the piece of shit tree,” Dennis comments, laughing a little. He must have taken like three drags, Mac realizes as Dennis passes the joint back. Dude is going to get really blazed.

“Well, what about your parents?” Charlie asks, almost sounding confrontational. 

“You sure got a high voice. You hit puberty yet?” Dennis laughs a little again. “My dad owns a bunch of businesses. He’s in Vietnam opening up a new factory right now.”

“And your mom?” Mac asks, hoping for something to bite back with.

“Spa weekend in the Poconos or some shit.” Dennis takes a sip from his red cup. 

“How do you throw parties like this without your parents finding out? Isn’t there a mess or whatever?” Mac asks.

“Nah. I just take my dad’s checkbook and pay the help extra to come to clean shit up before my parents get home.”

“He doesn’t notice?” Charlie asks, passing the joint to Dennis. It’s just a stub now. 

“ ‘Course not. It’s only like sixty bucks.”

“That’s a shit ton of money!” Charlie exclaims.

“Mmmm, is it?” Dennis passes the joint to Mac and leans back on his elbows. Mac finishes it off and stubs it out on the side of his boot.

(This guy’s a pretentious asshole, he thinks.)

Dennis is laughing. His eyes are bright red. 

Mac can’t help it. He laughs a little too. 

“Why’s your sister in that metal thing, bro?” Mac hears himself ask once the laughter has died down.

“Scoli… scoliosis,” Dennis says, the word coming out like he’s trying to put a puzzle together. He laughs again. So does Mac. Charlie even chuckles a little bit.

“We should… go hunting for ghouls,” Charlie suggests.

Dennis cracks up so hard, specks of spit land on Mac’s arm. “What…. the fuck!”

“Little green ghouls, man,” Charlie says, grinning lazily.

“It’s just this thing he talks about,” Mac tries to explain, but he’s laughing too. 

(Dennis has the most infectious laugh he’s ever heard. He laughs like nothing matters. He laughs like he can fly. Maybe it’s just the weed.)

“What the fuck is a little green ghoul?”

Charlie half shrugs. “I can’t explain it. I could show you if we found one.”

“We’re not gonna… what the fuck!” Dennis laughs more. His face is turning pink. 

Mac’s chest feels light. He’s never laughed this much in his life. If he has, he doesn’t remember it.

(Dennis is an asshole, though. Even through the haze of weed and beer, he realizes this.)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at golden-geese.tumblr.com!! title / lyrics in summary are from the song banks by lincoln, which is the most macdennis song in the land.


End file.
